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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28157358">Formality</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/jencsi/pseuds/jencsi'>jencsi</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>CSI: Crime Scene Investigation</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Gen</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 17:53:37</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,571</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28157358</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/jencsi/pseuds/jencsi</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>That’s what friends are for. Nick and Greg have a chat regarding Finns attack.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Formality</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Blood. That’s all he can remember. It’s the only images his brain will focus on. Tacky, thin, gushing, staining, red, crimson, but not totally red, she would have corrected him on the spot for that mistake. But of course, because she is the blood whisperer after all. He sits in a plain cushioned waiting room chair, one he’s occupied many times before. He keeps his eyes focused on the plain beige tiles on the floor beneath his feet. His head spins with different scenarios, different outcomes, the crippling agony of guilt, “why didn’t you get there sooner?” </p><p>That thought has crossed his mind too often over the years; what could have been done differently, executed faster, sooner, with more efficiency to save whomever was in peril this time. He recalls dusty desert air, hot, swirly around them, sweating endlessly, digging. He thinks of bullets, piercing skin, breaking blood vessels and arteries. He sees bruised cheeks, tender flesh destroyed by violence and sharp objects. A body plummets from a helicopter in a valiant escape attempt. A crushed arm, splinted back together by a thick cast. How much can one person bear? Worst still, how much luck do they have left as a team? </p><p>But what if’s didn’t make any difference. All they did was weigh you down and sink you. He clasps his hands together, regrettably so as there is still blood caked on them, drying, hers. Morgan encouraged him to clean up, that he wouldn’t miss anything if he stepped away to wash up. But he couldn’t leave, not without an update of some sort. The same blood stained hands trembled from the rush of searching, the agony of discovery, the panic of wanting to help, to save. </p><p>He couldn’t shake the images of her face, bloodied and bruised, scratched and mangled. He wasn’t even sure it was her beneath the carnage but her bright golden hair was still glimmering beneath the blood and cuts. He recalled the way his hands cradled her head as he lowered her to the concrete ground, as gently as he could, hands becoming tinted with red as he fumbled to find her pulse, pressing on her chest, perhaps a bit too hard with the compressions but he had to bring her back, for all of them.                  </p><p>Her bubbly laugh infiltrates his subconscious, the way she throws her head back laughing at something, or someone. Her contagious grin that flickers behind every snarky comment she makes. Curls that seem to spew endlessly from her head, falling all around her face and her shoulders, bouncing when she moves. How she pats an arm reassuringly, squeezes a hand in support, shares a meal of grilled cheese sandwiches at RJ’s. She was the only one who liked them as much as he did. She made him dance that night, offering tips on how to impress Morgan and boy did it work. She was helping him be a better person and now her life force was on the verge of being snuffed out just like that, poof, without even a second thought. He clenched his fists in anger over her attack and at the person responsible but that anger had nowhere to go, no one to unleash on, Russell had taken care of that. </p><p>      Greg senses movement beside him after a few minutes of solitude, everyone else has made their rounds to try and talk to him, to reassure him. And they have saved him for last. </p><p>      “Hey man, don’t beat yourself up over this,” Nick chooses a poor metaphor to describe the situation. </p><p>          “I’m not,” Greg insists “it’s just, I want her to be okay.” </p><p>       But Nick can’t assure him that. His silence speaks volumes. </p><p>       “It’s pretty bad,” Nick confesses “she’s lost a lot of blood, there’s pressure in her head they are trying to bring down, bastard hit her so much, she’s, it’s, they’re thinking coma until the pressure subsides.” </p><p>     Greg looks at Nick for the first time since he sat down. The guilt overwhelms him when he sees the pain in Nick's eyes. The man he has worked side by side with for years, who has seen every hell and then some, who finally found a real love with her, now looked on the brink of losing it. </p><p>      “She can’t die,” Greg protests turning in the chair, making his back ache, “she won’t, she’s strong, she has to come back, she loves you too much.” </p><p>        Those final words tumble out, sounding strange coming from him but it’s the truth. He wasn’t stupid, he knew they had something going on. He watched them process evidence together, talk about sports, walk side by side, nudge each other, it was all there. </p><p>      “I love her too,” Nick finally admits, “and she loves you guys, she’s gonna fight.” </p><p>        But in his own voice lay doubts about her recovery. </p><p>        “How did you know?” Nick asks. </p><p>            “It’s kind of obvious,” Greg says making a face “we’re CSI’s Nick, we see everything.” </p><p>    “Yeah I’m finding out we weren’t as good at hiding it as we thought,” Nick says smirking, no longer worried to speak about his romance with Finn. </p><p>    Greg shrugged, unsure what to say or tell his friend except for;</p><p>        “She’s great,” he praises Finn “you guys are perfect.”</p><p>    “Thanks man,” Nick says looking down at the blood stains on Greg’s hands. </p><p>        “I’m sorry,” he quickly apologizes “I should have cleaned it, but I just, I had to make sure she got here and was taken care of and-</p><p>    “It’s okay,” Nick says as Greg holds his hands out away from him as if the blood is now toxic. </p><p>          “Morgan told me how you kept trying CPR until the medics arrived” Nick continues “and the doctor told us she has some bruising on her chest not from the attack.” </p><p>            Greg realizes his fear was confirmed,  he did indeed push too hard as he struggled to give her compressions and bring her back to them. </p><p>           “I’m sorry,” he apologizes “I didn’t want to hurt her any worse but- </p><p>             “It’s okay,” Nick assures him “just knowing you care about her that much means the world to me.” </p><p>                Greg nods and sighs, relieved he didn’t cause too much extra damage but still mentally kicking himself for causing her any more pain. </p><p>               “Do you want to see her?” Nick asks and Greg shifts his gaze back to him, stunned at the offer. </p><p>    “Yeah,” he says after a beat of hesitation “I mean, if they say it’s okay, if you’re okay with it.” </p><p>    “Absolutely,” Nick says. </p><p>        It’s the motivation Greg needs to finally wipe the blood off his hands, discarding the towels in the biohazard bag provided by the nurse. Nick takes Greg to the floor where Finn resides, just outside the ICU and close enough to the trauma wing. She’s labeled as critical but stable. </p><p>           When Nick opens the door to the room, Greg is met with sounds from machines, hums and beeps, but mostly silence. She’s there, laying amongst all the sterile white from the sheets to the gown she wears to the blankets tucked around her. Her face displays the most distinct color, mostly red and purple from the attack. The hospital staff cleaned her wounds as best they could but she did not look much different from when they pulled her out of the trunk. Greg can see bruises on her arms and a few broken fingernails, she fought back. Atta girl. </p><p>          Nick encouraged him to get closer with a nudge on his shoulder  but he fears repercussions from the staff or from her. At the same time he is hopeful, maybe she will hear him, sense him, come back to them. She shouldn’t be here, not someone like her, someone too perfect, too driven, she didn’t deserve this. His hands shake as they touch the bed railing then reach down slowly and pick up her hand. It’s cold and he hates that. It makes her seem lifeless when she is in fact the exact opposite. She was the one who got them pumped for softball games, gave them tips and tricks for their swings and pitches but also supplied them with intellect and processing techniques for working in the lab and field. </p><p>         Greg watches her breathe, aided by machines. He feels the urge to brush her hair but resists since she’s still so fragile right now. When he glanced behind him he saw that Nick was no longer behind him but had stepped out of the room to speak to a doctor. In that moment, Greg leans in and whispers to Finn “You better come back to him, he needs you” and he half expected to see her to jump up right then and there but she doesn’t. </p><p>         “Don’t be gone too long” Greg says to Finn now “fight, find your way out of there, he did and I know you can too.” </p><p>            He looks around again for anyone watching before carefully bestowing a kiss on top of her head where he found a spot that wasn’t covered in blood or mangled or matted in any way shape or form. </p><p>        “I’ll be back to visit,” Greg assures her “we all will.” </p><p>         He backs out of the room, out into the hallway, back to Nick who pats his shoulder comfortingly as they keep a watch on Finn for a few more minutes before visiting hours end and they must vacate the space begrudgingly so.</p>
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